A Free Generation
by kneedeepinpoppies
Summary: East Berlin, 1986: Bella is an idealistic socialist painter, using her talents for the benefit of the fatherland, until Eduard, her new lover, drags her into a world of dissidents, the Stasi, and their informants, just before the wall comes tumbling down.
1. Prologue: 3 January, 1991

Welcome all to my story of dissidents and informants, artists and policemen, of the people hidden behind the Wall. A few historical notes before we get started. This story takes place in the waning days of the GDR (German Democratic Republic), better known as East Germany. The East German secret police, the MfS or Stasi, had infiltrated into East German society so completely that roughly 1 in 50 of the 17 million GDR residents had informed or had previously informed on someone they knew. It was a terrifying time.

There will be some German words in here, though mostly place names and proper names that didn't need translating. I'll put a translation at the bottom of each chapter if there's any new words. Feel free to ask if you have any questions about this fascinating time in history! I am by _no_ means an expert, but I have a fairly good grasp of what went on.

Also, I have tried to "Teuton-ify" the characters' names as best as possible. I think most are pretty self-explanatory.

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of Stephenie Meyer's characters. Some details and situations have been inspired by von Donnersmarck's _The Lives of Others_, a fantastic film if you haven't seen it. The title was taken from a line in the former East German national anthem.  
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I don't speak German. I took some in school, but I can't speak it, only able to understand familiar words if I come across them. That's why this story is in English! Also, I have never been to Germany (unless you count being on a bus from Prague to London in the middle of the night zooming along the autobahn), although I have traveled pretty extensively in a few other post-communist countries (Czech Republic, Slovakia, former Yugoslavia and Romania) and have been doing my own research about Berlin, like checking to make sure my characters use correct S-Bahn stops, and what the architecture in different neighborhoods look like. I want to be as historically accurate as I can be, but there's some facts I just can't find and have to make up on my own.

Please enjoy!

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_**Prologue**_

_3 January, 1991  
Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany_

Bella Schwan rose early on the 3rd, wanting the entire day to carry out her plans. For the second time in her life, and only the first by her own volition, she traveled to the old Stasi headquarters in Hohenschönhausen from the flat she shared with her husband, Eduard, in Prenzlauer Berg.

As she emerged from the S-Bahn station on Frankfurter Allee, blinking in the bright direct sunlight, she wound her way to Ruchestrasse, to the Stasi Museum. The giant concrete building loomed over her, looking a bit incongruous with the bright sunshine of the day. The last time she'd been here it had been in the snow, in late winter of 1987.

The inside was stark and colorless, and even though the Stasi had cleared out nearly a year before, the ghosts of the old regime hung heavily. A pretty young woman with a thick Saxon accent greeted her, and Bella admitted the real reason why she had come: she had come to read her file.

As the woman led Bella along a long corridor, she introduced herself as Frau Lehmann, and directed Bella through a set of heavy doors into a room lined with desks where a few people already looking through their files sat solemnly.

Bella sat and waited, forcing herself to be patient and calm. The others sitting in the room had grim faces as they flipped through page after page of small typewritten text. All looked careworn except for a well-dressed woman who looked vaguely familiar to Bella. It took a few minutes to come to her before she realized it was Angela Weber, a well-known actress from the West. Most of her films had been censored in the GDR, so Bella wasn't very familiar with her work, but she recognized her from the billboards that had sprung up just before and since reunification.

The doors slammed open and Bella jumped, looking up to see Frau Lehmann pushing a cart overflowing with binders and file folders. Her eyes widened as she took in just how much of her own life had been recorded by strangers, strangers who had only hoped to find enough information to arrest her.

Frau Lehmann wheeled the cart next to Bella's table and flashed her a wry grin. "Nearly 1 meter thick!" She proclaimed. Bella couldn't even stutter a response. Frau Lehmann winked and excused herself, leaving Bella in a nervous silence. The others in the room nodded approvingly at the mountain of files in front of her, but paid her little heed as their own minds were wrapped up in the files containing their own names.

Bella tentatively picked up the top binder, by far the oldest, and flipped it open to the first page. There was her name: Isabella Maria Schwan; her date of birth: 13 September, 1956; and the day the file began: 26 July, 1970, the day after her mother, Renee Schwan, had escaped to the west with her lover, Philip Dweier. Bella had been 13, still a Young Pioneer, and her mother's defection had devastated her. The first files said little about Bella herself, and more about her ties to her mother. It was marked that every few months, Bella was engaging in "conspiratorial post" and it took a few minutes of examining each note before she realized that the notes corresponded with her receiving letters from her mother in the West. There were even copies of the letters, including a few that Bella didn't recognize, ones that had been confiscated before she'd even had a chance to read them.

She drank in the familiar view of her mother's handwriting, the mother who was never quite familiar to her, no matter how often Bella visited her in Renee's flat in Kreuzberg. She read through the letters that had never reached her, Renee telling her of seeing an American film in a cinema, and of traveling all the way to Egypt to see the pyramids. She extolled the virtues of a West that Bella never knew, even now, just over a year after the borders had crumbled.

There were little notes in the letters telling her to be good for her father, as they had both known that to disobey him of all people was tantamount to suicide. In her letters, Renee referred to him still as Karlchen, the boy she remembered growing up with. This a habit she had only broken herself of recently, once the wall was down, and his crimes as Captain Schwan of the MfS, the Stasi, were exposed.

Until 1986, the only files on Bella were about her mother, but after she had joined the FDJ, the Free German Youth, the GDR's socialist organization for young people, her file ceased. Around that time, Bella remembered throwing herself into her studies and work, wanting to become a model socialist, someone her father could be proud of. Bella felt a pang in her chest as she thought of her _Vater_, Karl Schwan, known as Captain Schwan to most. He had loved her, she knew that implicitly, but it was hard to prove. He was a hard man, disappointed and angry at her mother's defection, as he had been demoted soon after she'd left. Though he lost some of the prestige that he'd enjoyed during his younger days, his colleagues still respected his thoroughness and his dedication to rooting out the dissidents in his society.

Bella had strived to make him proud of her. She had behaved as a model socialist, a model East German. She sang the praises of the Party, was active in the FDJ during secondary school and university and had even joined the Party upon graduation when she was 22. Her file was silent on everything that the state had deemed acceptable. Not even Karl's death in 1981 had been noted.

Her heart skipped as she turned to the next page. There, her first encounter with Eduard had been noted, handwritten in plain German across the slightly yellowed paper.

**18 February, 1986**

**23.30 Uhr: Schwan encountered E. Kullen following premiere of play. Probable sexual intercourse. Would be wise to monitor.**

Bella smiled despite herself, despite the gross invasion of privacy, despite all that that tiny fragment of her file meant. That was the beginning of her life with Eduard. That was the beginning of her true life, a life spent making her own decisions and doing what she felt was right. After the moment she had first laid eyes on him, Bella's illusion of her own righteous socialism and loyalty were shattered. She'd never be the same again, nor would she ever wish she could be. She took in a deep breath and turned to the next page.

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**Notes:**

**Stasi** - Abbreviation of _**Sta**ats**si**cherheit_, literally State Security. The East German secret police. Officially known as the MfS, Ministry for State Security.  
**Hohensh****ö****nhausen** - a former borough of East Berlin. Since 2001, part of the borough of Lichtenberg. Where the Stasi HQ and the former prison are located.  
**Prenzlauer Berg** - a former borough of East Berlin, characterized by its pre-war architecture, and the high numbers of students, artists and intellectuals who lived there.  
**S-Bahn** - Berlin's above ground city rail system (the underground train is the U-Bahn)  
**Allee** - Avenue (Frankfurter Allee = Frankfurt Avenue or Boulevard)  
**Strasse** - Street (also spelled _Stra__ße_)  
**Saxony** - a state formerly part of East Germany. The accent was associated with East German politicians and is also widely the butt of impossibly untranslatable jokes.  
**Frau** - woman or Mrs. (nowadays used to refer to an adult woman, married or not, in place of _fräulein_ which is considered old fashioned and dated)  
**Kreuzberg** - a former borough of West Berlin, now combined with the former East Berlin borough of Friedrichshain to form the new borough of Kreuzberg-Friedrichshain. Historically a poor area that in recent decades became famous for cheap rents, artists and alternative music scenes.**  
****Karlchen** - "_chen_" is a German diminutive. _Karlchen_ = Little Karl, or "Karlie". The closest thing to 'Charlie' I could find, as the German form of Charles is Karl ;)**  
Young Pioneers** - Also Thälmann Pioneers. The East German youth scouting organization. Although not mandatory, in practice almost every child joined. It fed directly into the:  
**Free German Youth** - Shortened to FDJ (_Freie Deutches Jungen_) The communist youth organization. Again, joining was not mandatory although quality and ease of life was usually positively impacted by membership.  
**Vater** - father  
**the Party** - the Socialist Unity Party of Germany (SED) The governing (and only) political party in East Germany from 1949 until 1990. The German Communist Party.  
**23.30** - In the 12 hour clock, this is 11:30 PM!  
**Uhr** - hour/o'clock

I'd love to hear from everyone if you liked this or not! This is only the prologue, which is why it's on the shorter side but upcoming chapters will be longer. Thank you if you've read this far ;)


	2. 01: 5 March, 1986

Welcome back! A few notes:

I very highly doubt that "Karlail" is a real German name. I googled it and the only reference I found was about Carlisle Cullen on a Russian message board. So I ran with it.

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_**Chapter 1**_

_5 March, 1986  
East Berlin, German Democratic Republic_

"Good day, Comrade Schwan," said a deep voice from behind her. Bella spun around in surprise, having assumed she was alone after hours, upsetting a small jar of paint as she turned.

"Oh!" She cried out, barely having a moment to look at the face behind the voice before grabbing at the jar. She ended up upending it even further and spilling more red paint onto the floor.

Michael Neustadt grabbed his muffler from around his neck and dropped it onto the puddle of paint. "Here, allow me," he said as he attempted to mop up the red mess. He only succeeded in soaking his muffler in red paint. He sheepishly abandoned his effort, leaving the offending garment in a heap on the floor, surrounding by red smears.

Bella grabbed a stack of newspapers instead and began scooping up the muffler and paint and depositing it in the garbage. "I suppose this encounter isn't exactly what you'd planned. Am I right, Comrade Neustadt?"

Neustadt's face colored for a moment before he regained his composure. "No, I suppose not, Schwan. I wasn't counting on you being so clumsy, nor my muffler not being very absorbent."

Smiling tightly, Bella edged away from him. She had lost track of the time working on a new piece: a large painting of female factory workers, their faces plain but beautiful in their determination. Bella was pleased with how much motion she had managed to depict in a still image. It was about 3/4 of the way finished and all she had left to do was paint the background, a factory scene of gray and steel. She enjoyed painting the faces, with their red ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes, because she loved using color, but it wouldn't do to have bright yellow or purple machinery! She'd be laughed out of Berlin. Or, more likely she'd have been added to someone's list and watched closely for her next anti-socialist move.

Bella could never understand how color could be anti-socialist. She considered herself a patriot, a proud resident of the GDR and proud member of the SED, the Communist Party. She was a good socialist. Yet she loved color… It was her only crime.

The government elite, however, liked her paintings, liked her sense of color. Minister Caius said that it was reminiscent of the Soviet art during the war, full of bright colors and strong striking figures that showed the strength and passion of the GDR's people. Usually, the only work they had for her to do were boring portraits of government officials, old men with gray hair, grayer skin and black or beige suits. The only color in their faces were their red, bloodshot eyes, but it was her duty to glorify these old men, make them look healthy and virile. That's why she was favored, after all.

As she tidied up her workspace, she finally turned back to Herr Neustadt. He was not much older than her, maybe in his mid-thirties, but he was surprisingly fit for a government worker. Tall and thinly built with thick blond hair, Bella knew he fancied her, but couldn't bring herself to fall for his charms. It would be easy. He was well positioned within the Party to bring more attention to her art and they would live comfortably and quietly.

Yet she just felt like she couldn't, that if she didn't _know_ when she first met a person, that they couldn't be the one. When she first met Michael Neustadt, she had felt nothing, only mild admiration for his good looks. His mind failed to intrigue her, as he too readily fell into the roll of eager bureaucrat, relying more on what other people thought of him, than what he really thought of himself, and embroiling himself too deeply in the details rather than the bigger picture.

As an artist in the GDR specializing in portraits and images of proud socialists, Bella was expected to be able to read anyone and be able to record all their deepest, innermost thoughts in a two dimensional image painted in the socialist realist style. In her own work, she had slightly more freedom, but she was careful not to offend so to keep her privileges and be left relatively alone. She had painted a portrait of Michael when he had received his latest promotion and had found him easy to capture, an uncomplicated and simple man who liked nothing more than to please. She considered him an eternal puppy, though if he wasn't careful he'd turn into a hound by the time he was pushing 40.

With a last sigh, Bella finished her cleanup and began packing her supplies away. Michael still hovered near the door, studying Bella's latest painting. "Do you like it, Herr Neustadt?" Bella asked.

"Oh yes, Comrade Schwan. You have shapely women bursting out from the canvas, what is there not to like?"

"I was trying to fancy the notion that a woman's shape and face could be taken out of consideration on the matter of beauty, actually," Bella said, her voice somewhat clipped, but still nominally friendly as she packed the last of her papers into her leather satchel. She reached for her coat, but Michael was too quick for her and grabbed it first.

"Allow me," he said graciously, holding it out so that she could slip her arms into the sleeves with ease.

"Thank you," Bella said honestly.

Michael took a little longer than necessary to pull the collar of her coat up and over her shoulders, but as soon as he let go, Bella was able to step back and he did not try to get closer. He cleared his throat a little self-consciously. "You were saying?"

"Oh! I was, wasn't I?" Bella blushed and exited the door he held open for her. "Well, I was just trying to show the beauty of the women through their dedication and strength, rather than in naturally inherited traits. The most selfless and most productive are to be the true measures of beauty, rather than a woman with nice clothes and a lovely face."

"That is a charming idea!" Michael was well on his way to proving her initial assessments. He clearly had not understood a word she said. Bureaucrats rarely did, as they understood black and white and not shades of gray. Portraits were judged by how much they actually resembled the subject, and paintings were acceptable as long as they fell within a narrow range of themes and styles. Though Bella loved her country, she loved her art that much more, and she was yearning to stretch her abilities, see how far her talent reached.

"Yes, charming," she repeated blandly as they headed for the elevator. She hoped someone else would end up in the elevator with them. Michael was harmless, but it wasn't such a stretch to imagine him getting handsy in an empty elevator.

No one got on with them, but Michael was remarkably well behaved. He looked like he had something on his mind and Bella decided to come out and ask.

"You look like you have something you want to ask me, Herr Neustadt."

Michael looked at her in surprise and then nodded, "Why yes I do, Frau Schwan. I have an assignment for you."

Bella raised her eyebrows. "An assignment?"

"A work assignment. An associate of mine is a fan of your work and has suggested that you create a poster for a play that is premiering in two weeks. I had it arranged so that you could go to a rehearsal tonight to get a feel for it. That is, if you'd like this assignment."

Bella's eyes widened, but she smiled, a real smile this time. "Of course I will do it. Which theater?"

"The Maxim-Gorky-Theater. It's a family affair. The poet behind it all is Karlail Kullen and his wife, Esme Kullen, the director."

"And the actors?"

"Kullen's nephew Eduard, who I'm sure you've heard of." Bella nodded because she had. "His leading lady is Rosalia Herz, the great beauty of our GDR. A friend of mine, Jessika Stanlisch plays a supporting part. She's a minor actress at the moment, but she's hoping this new production will bring her more attention."

"Well then, it seems my notions that physical beauty is unimportant will be challenged in the next two weeks then," Bella said, the side of her mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. "You'll have me painting two of the best looking people in the country!"

Michael reached up and began to stroke her hair. "Oh, I don't know about that, Comrade Schwan…"

Bella backed up quickly, pretending she had tripped over a loose brick in the sidewalk. "When is the rehearsal?"

Michael sighed, seemingly realizing that he would be getting nowhere with Comrade Schwan that night. "There is one that starts in an hour. Do you need directions?" Bella shook her head and bid him goodnight, walking the familiar streets of Berlin's Mitte district from her tiny working space in a much larger culture complex until she reached the theater.

Despite being excited about a new assignment, as she'd never worked on a poster for a play before, she was nervous about having to paint notoriously good-looking people. She had just emphasized to Michael that a handsome face or a shapely figure had little bearing on her perception of beauty, yet she knew the face of Eduard Kullen, and she was nervous that seeing it in person would make her fall to bits.

The rehearsal had already started by the time she'd reached it, and she quietly slipped in the back, hoping she wasn't disturbing anyone. Rosalia and Jessika, dressed in the plain clothes of Russian peasants, discussed recent happenings in the current scene. Bella deduced that the play was centered around the October Revolution in Russia, from the references to Lenin as a still-breathing man, rather than the legend he'd become. The women looked up as Eduard stormed onto the stage, holding a rifle and wearing a bloody shirt. Bella sat up sharply in her seat, finally seeing the man in person.

He was older than she expected, probably nearing 40, and he was tall and so very handsome. His face wasn't classically beautiful like she had assumed from pictures, but held so much charisma and pure energy that she was immediately swept into the story. He was playing a revolutionary soldier, Ivan, who must choose between his greatest love, Irina, as played by Rosalia; a bourgeois girl his parents expect him to marry, Tanya, played by Jessika; and his own revolutionary ideals. His tall thin frame towered over the women as he extolled Marxist doctrine over romantic love, choosing instead to give his all to the revolution.

Although the plotline followed a typically Party-acceptable line, the nuances in the dialogue, the beautiful poetry that spilled from the mouths of the beautiful creatures gracing the stage enthralled Bella as she listened, rapt. Her art seemed pithy and mundane in comparison.

Bella knew they were nearing the ending when Eduard's character finally made his decision and left to join his Bolshevik brothers. The play drew to a close as Tanya read Ivan's last letter. Eduard stepped back out from behind the curtain and recited the rest. As his character spoke of love for his country and his people, Bella's eyes welled up and she had to brush a few tears from her cheeks. Ivan was never meant to come home, and Eduard sank to his knees on center stage and drew a staggering last breath and collapsed upon the floor. Rosalia read one last telegram, telling her of Ivan's death and she sank to the floor in sobs. Just as Bella thought she could never stand it, Rosalia stood back up and declared that if Ivan was willing to die for his cause, that it must be a good one and declared that she'd never stand down, never stop fighting, until Ivan's dream was realized in the world.

Two people who had been sitting in the front row of the theater stood up suddenly, clapping. Bella realized they must be Karlail and Esme, the playwright and director…and Eduard's family. She took a deep shuddering breath and slipped out the back to catch the S-Bahn home.

Her head was too full of ideas for the poster for her to even think straight. As she entered her small flat in a old tenement in Prenzlauer Berg, she threw her satchel on the floor and stripped off her clothes, shrugging on the oversized men's shirt that had once belonged to an ex-boyfriend, now used as her painting smock. She lit a cigarette and stared hard at her empty canvas. She couldn't wipe Eduard's image from her mind if she tried. Her head still buzzing, she poured herself a shot of vodka, downed it and to chase it took a heavy drag off her cigarette. Still the canvas stared blankly back at her. How was she going to capture Eduard's sheer energy, the power of his words, his movement, his eyes, on a simple canvas with paints?

Finally she set up her palette with bright reds and yellows and began to paint. She started with his hair, a mix of rust and chocolate brown, slightly longish in back, but slicked back tight from his forehead, and then filled in his face. Rosalia came next, slightly behind Eduard, but no less a main focus of the piece, with Jessika painted behind her still, a little sketchier and almost but not quite blending in with the background, which Bella painted last. She filled it with flames and raised fists, one figure raising a battered Soviet flag high above his head.

Bella glanced from her work to the clock on the wall. It was nearing three in the morning. She sighed and gave the painting one last scrutinizing look. She still had plenty of time to finish it, but she had completed the bulk of the work that night. If she hadn't, she'd never have been able to sleep, she reminded herself as she collapsed onto her bed, still wearing her paint-smeared smock. She would be tired in the morning, but not as tired as if she'd laid in bed for hours longer, tossing and turning, unable to get Eduard Kullen's face out of her head. Not that actually finishing the painting made a difference. Instead of Eduard's face filling her conscious thoughts, he filled her dreams instead.

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**Notes:**

**Neustadt** - New Town/City (get it? Newton! I thought it was clever...)  
**Herr **- Mister

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear all your thoughts!**  
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